


We'll Never Sleep (God Knows We'll Try)

by Vrunka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Family Issues, Hand Jobs, Illegal Activities, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon Greyjoy figures senior year is a wash. No new classes, no new faces. More of the same old, same old. That is until he meets Ramsay Snow err Bolton, the new kid that everyone whispers is ten million shades of crazy. And a few ounces of crazy might just be what Theon needs to shake up his stale life. Or, you know, not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Days, First Glances

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a mix between tv and book verse. Used book names and show ages and I just can't with Iwan Rheon. I'm a sucker for a pretty face, so Ramsay is 100% show.

It takes a long time for Theon to stop shaking, clutching his hand to his chest and gaping, gasping like a fish without water, muted with the pain. With the shock of it all.

But this isn’t the beginning. And it isn’t the end. It’s somewhere near the middle.

It began when he was ten.

Only that’s not right either.

He was ten when Social Services came knocking on the door, when the pretty lady in the pink coat took his hand and led him away from the house. He remembers his father yelling in the background, not at the cops but at him, cursing him. He remembers turning to look over his shoulder and the woman turning him back, steering him away. The black eyes and broken cheek bone took a long time to heal. The trial was long over by the time they had.

He remembers that it always seemed strange that the government took him away, made him a ward of the state, but that they left Asha.

It never really mattered, he supposes. That’s all over now.

He was seventeen and it was summer. That’s where it began.

He is seventeen and it is summer and he is out with Robb Stark (his brother, though not by blood, the closest thing he’d ever know to one) in Robb’s car. Theon calls it chick surfing. Robb calls it cruising. Either way, it is how both boys have spent most of their summer. Driving along the suburban streets with the top down. No destination and no cares.

“Would you look at that,” Robb says, quiet and smooth as he pulls to a stop at the intersection of Hornwood and Forte.

Theon makes a non-committal noise, takes another drag from his cigarette. Ned Stark does not approve of his smoking, meaning Robb doesn’t either, so he goes out of his way to light up when they’re out like this. The house on the corner has been sold, Robb is craning his neck, working around Theon to get a look. There’s a moving van out front, boxes stacked by the garage. The front door is closed.

“Someone bought the Dreadfort place,” Theon says, leaning his elbow on the window frame. The boards have been removed from the windows, are piled at the edge of the overgrown lawn. There’s a light on in the widow’s walk. Theon lowers the cigarette from his lips, it trembles slightly in his grip.

Robb notices, grins. “Still scared of the ghosts?” He says jokingly.

“Fuck that,” Theon defends, though it is weaker than he intends. He puts the cigarette out viciously, stamping it into the ashtray for betraying him. But he smiles, looking sidelong at Robb. “I’m just wondering what dumbass bought the place.”

Robb snorts and shrugs, calling Theon’s bluff in his own way, but he doesn’t push the issue. The light changes to green and Robb eases the car into gear and they’re off. Theon doesn’t think about the Dreadfort again for weeks.

School starts, much too soon for Theon to be ready, because he doesn’t give a fuck about it. He’s not a Stark, and the Greyjoy name isn’t enough to carry him, but every time he could crack a book, or do his homework, or give a shit--“apply himself” Robb always says--something better to do comes along. Usually with long hair and skinny arms and a mouth made for sucking cock. Ned used to admonish him for it, and Robb hasn’t quite dropped the habit. As they walk into school on the first day, Theon makes a big show of winking at all the freshman girls, while Robb cringes beside him.

“They’re freshman,” Robb says, like flirting is a sin.

“Fresh meat.” Theon corrects.

“You’re disgusting,” Robb says, though there is little heat in it. “They’re like babies.”

“And who better than the big bad seniors to teach them some lessons.” And even though he’s joking, mostly, Theon can’t help but stare as a young-looking girl hustles past him, skirt flaring up as she walks. “And I think I know just where I’m going to start,” Theon begins, shooting Robb a shameless grin over his shoulder. Walking straight into another girl who’s moved into his path.

“Maybe you should start by watching where you’re going,” a familiar voice says as Theon turns, ready to be angry.

“Asha.” he says, deflating.

“Theon,” she greets back, just as icily, barely smiling. Robb steps even with Theon and she tips her head just slightly. “Stark.”

“Asha.” Robb greets and Theon swears, it’s only when Robb is around Theon’s true-blood sister that he acts nervous. Anyone else and Robb is confident and calm, but Asha Greyjoy shows her face and Robb loses his cool.

She narrows her eyes, sensing his weakness, then licks her lips. “I’d like a word with my brother, if you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t have to--,” Theon starts, bristling. But Robb cuts him off.

“It’s cool,” he says, palming the back of his head, the traitor. “I have to figure out where my homeroom is anyway.” Because, just like every other year, Robb gets a new classroom and a new class while Theon reports to the same old room with the same old class of fucking idiots who still haven’t managed to get their acts together.

“Thanks,” Asha drawls, turning to lean on the lockers, giving Robb room to pass in the crowded hall. And Theon could kill him as he goes. Could just kill him. “Father says hello,” Asha continues once he’s gone, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t have any bruises on her arms, so Theon figures that’s a good sign.

“No he didn’t.” Theon mutters, matching her stance.

Asha grins, biting her lip slightly, demeanor softening just the littlest bit. “No, he didn’t,” she agrees, “but it’s a nice thought.”

Theon swallows. Looks away. It is a nice thought and he hates that even after seven years he still feels that way. “See that you’re rocking the lesbian vibe this semester,” he says, touching her cropped hair, narrowing his eyes. He realizes after he’s gone and done it how much like her he is. But it’s done now. Asha has the grace to grin at his childish jab, a tight, condescending pull of her lips. She’s two years older and she acts it, most of the time. When she doesn’t raise to his bait, Theon sighs, crossing his arms. “So what the hell do you want?”

“I can’t just check up on my little brother sometimes?”

“Asha,” he says, warningly.

“Really, I just want to make sure that you. I don’t know,” she squints, touches his arm. He blinks at the contact, the sincerity in the motion. “Look, I know you’ve fucked up. Everyone fucks up but like. Don’t let this year be the same as those others. This is your chance to do it right,” and Theon has to look away, he has to, and that’s when it happens.

The boy is skinny. Too fucking skinny. And short, probably just shy of Theon’s height. He’s pushing his way out of the boy’s restroom and he’s dark haired and slump-shouldered and too motherfucking skinny and in that instant Theon knows, just goddamn knows, that he’s in trouble. Because the first thing he thinks, when he sees that boy is ‘Jesus, I want to fuck him until he cries’ and that’s just never a good way to start things.

“I know you got accepted to North,” Asha is still saying, unaware that her brother’s attention has inextricably wandered, “and that’s great. But if you bomb this semester they can still revoke your admission and I’d,” but her words are trailing off, her gaze following Theon’s as the boy disappears into the wave of students milling about before the first bell, “are you even listening to me, Theon?”

“Huh?” He asks, as she squeezes his arm, drawing his attention back to her.

“Huh?” She mimics, poisonous again. Angry. “You’re such a dick it’s a wonder the Starks didn’t ship you back.”

Theon rolls his eyes. Her anger he can deal with. Her anger makes him comfortable. “Yeah well, be sure to tell father I send my love, unless of course you think he’ll break your ribs for it again.” And he isn’t quite sure what reaction he was expecting from such a line, but Asha slaps him once, hard, and it’s loud enough that everyone in the hallway stops and stares and Asha is holding her hand and there are tears in her eyes. And Theon is actually surprised.

“Fuck you,” she says, low and heated. But she doesn’t cry, Theon gives her credit for that. Even as she stalks away from him, pushing him against the lockers as she passes, she isn’t crying. Theon cradles his face and wishes he’d handled that better.

He sulks to his classroom, ignoring the few jeers from the students too stupid to know better, and he sits in the same seat he always sits in and when the bell rings he barely looks up to register the other delinquents filing in.

The teacher is some new woman. Young and pretty and blonde, and even though Theon’s face still aches, he winks and grins when she calls his name in roll. But she doesn’t even bat an eye, doesn’t blush or stutter or anything which shows she’s been warned about him and that just sours Theon’s mood further.

He shoots Jon Snow (another adoptee of Bleeding Heart Eddard Stark) a look, rolling his eyes dramatically. Jon chuckles, but it’s almost condescending. Like Jon Snow is better than anyone, he’s in the dummy class for a reason, just like everyone else here. Except, when the teacher calls his name, Jon does that thing he does, that aw shucks little head tilt as he raises his hand and the woman giggles and smiles warmly and Theon can’t fucking stand it. He’s going to be sick. It’s the first day and he’s already ready to kill everyone. Because, yes, Jon Snow is pretty. He has a lady’s mouth under that stupid, scrubby beard he’s cultivating and his eyes are dark and brooding and all gothic romance, but does it have to be rubbed in Theon’s face so early in the morning?

Frustrated, Theon tears his gaze away from Jon, scans the familiar faces in the room for at least something to catch his interest and pay dirt. Two rows behind Jon, with his head lowered and his pencil hard at work scribbling in his notebook. The boy from the bathroom.

“Ramsay Snow,” the teacher calls, as if on cue.

The pencil pauses. Theon sees the way the boy’s shoulders stiffen. But he doesn’t raise his hand. Even though he’s the last one left. Ramsay Snow could only be him.

“Ramsay Snow?” The teacher says again, a question this time.

“My last name is Bolton,” the boy says, without looking up. His voice is meek, cracks ever so slightly on the phrase. Theon doesn’t know what’s wrong with him but that voice goes straight to his gut, simmers there.

“Excuse me?” The teacher says, tipping her head. Searching for the speaker.

Ramsay looks up from his doodle. His eyes are grey and cold and in total opposition to his voice. His eyes are sure, his eyes are strong. “I said my last name is Bolton.” Everyone is staring at him, because they may be a bunch of fuck-ups and truants but shit doesn’t usually go down on the first day and almost never with a teacher but the new woman and the new student’s standoff ends almost as quickly as it started.

She shrugs, tapping the clipboard with the names on it with her pencil. “If it’s a matter of last names, you take it up with the front office,” she says and everyone waits for the new kid’s retort but he just opens his mouth, then closes it, frowning. He swallows, lowers his head and takes up his drawing again.

And that’s the end of it. She’s over it, everyone is over it.

Except Theon.

He can’t seem to stop looking, can’t seem to stop staring and the more he watches the worse it gets. Ramsay licks his lips a lot, and his lips are pink and not quite plump enough to be cock-sucking perfect but they’re damn close. His hands are pale and slim, long fingered, almost feminine. His jaw is square and strong, a contradiction to those hands, and there’s a slight blush of stubble. His eyes are deep-set and his nose is perfect and straight and fuck it’s been a while since Theon has had it this bad this fast, but he is determined that before the month (fuck that--the week) is over, he’s going to have tapped that. At least once. Maybe several times. And once he’s worked Ramsay Snow, yes Snow, out of his system, he’ll move onto the next target. Wherever she may be. It shouldn’t take too long.

Despite this resolve though, Theon doesn’t get the chance. When class breaks for lunch, Jon Snow grabs his arm and drags him away. Theon eats with the Starks as he always has, squished in between Robb and Jon, listening without listening as Sansa chatters away about this boy and that. New classes, new faces. Theon is only half listening, scanning the room for Ramsay, but he doesn’t see him.

Lunch ends and Theon is foiled once more, because Ramsay doesn’t come back from it with everyone else. He isn’t there for the rest of the day. The rumors start then.

“Did you hear,” some girl is saying, leaning over her desk to whisper at Theon, “that Snow kid totally fucked up Edd Karstark.” Which couldn’t be true because Edd Karstark is stout and strong and could probably kill Ramsay Snow with a sneeze.

But Theon hums, and turns his head and asks, “Really?” because sometimes gossip can be telling.

“Totally,” she says, touching Theon’s arm, and Theon wonders if he’s fucked her before, if that’s why she’s being so forward. “The new kid’s fucking nuts.”

“Isn’t it a little early to jump to that conclusion?”

She rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t say that if you were Edd. You should have seen him.”

“Did you see him?” Theon asks, moving his arm. He doubts it, and by the way she deflates, shoulders slumping, he knows she didn’t. “Exactly. You’ll see, he’ll be back tomorrow.”

And Theon is right. Sort of. The next morning, Ramsay is back in the seat he’d occupied yesterday. And when the teacher calls roll, she calls him Ramsay Bolton and he smirks when he raises his hand and there’s a bruise on his face, a purple-black blotch that blends into the pink of his lips. He’s back all right, but Edd Karstark isn’t.

“I heard he got into a fight,” Robb says during lunch, “got suspended.” Theon looks over at Ramsay, sitting alone in the far corner of the cafeteria, but the boy isn’t looking back, is too absorbed in whatever he’s eating to notice his attentive audience of one.

“I heard he got real fucked up,” Theon says, off-handedly. Still not really believing it.

“Maybe,” Robb says, rolling his shoulders. “He probably deserved it.”

But Theon isn’t really listening. He’s watching Ramsay as Ramsay pushes away from the lunch table and digs his hands into his pockets, turning from the table, leaving the room.

“I have to,” Theon says, before he can stop himself, standing suddenly. Jon and Robb are staring at him. “Go. I have.” He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. He’s leaving. Following after Ramsay. The boy ducks into the bathroom just outside the cafeteria and Theon pauses at the door. What the fuck is he doing? He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t. But it’s a little late to turn back now. He runs his thumb over his knuckles, counts to five and pushes the door open.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” Ramsay asks, before Theon even has the door completely open. Ruining any hope of surprise. His voice isn’t as shaky as it had been yesterday.

Theon makes a face. Defensive, now that his strategy is down the tubes. “Just came for a piss,” he says, stepping back, like he’s offended. Ramsay narrows his eyes. And they’re so mesmerizing, those eyes. Like ice. Slippery and dangerous. Theon wonders if maybe the rumors were right. If Edd Karstark got fucked up by this twig of a kid, if this Ramsay Snow is six-shades of crazy.

“You’re lying,” Ramsay says. “You’ve been staring at me all day.” He tilts his head. “I’m not blind. Or stupid.” But he sounds unsure again, his voice lilting and fragile. He sort of speaks through his nose, giving his voice a reedy quality and Theon’s imagination is at it again. He can imagine perfectly how Ramsay would say his name, breathy and shy and perfect.

And he needs to hear that. A sudden and all-consuming need, like needing to breath. Theon needs to hear Ramsay say his name. He steps forward and apparently catches Ramsay off-guard because Ramsay steps back. Back to the wall, cornering himself. Theon grins. He was wrong; they’re the same height, easily eye to eye as Theon pushes himself into Ramsay’s space.

“What are you doing?” Ramsay asks. Theon can see the way his jaw tightens, body tensing.

“What’d you do to Eddard Karstark?”

Ramsay smirks, no hesitation in the motion. “Why? Want me to do the same to you?” He’s bluffing and Theon knows it.

Theon reaches out and Ramsay doesn’t flinch or move so he runs his fingers over that bruise on Ramsay’s face, pressing into the flesh. Ramsay hisses and shifts. “What’re you--,”

But Theon just hushes him, moving his fingers apologetically. Running them down Ramsay’s throat. Under the collar of his shirt. “I’ve been staring because everyone says you’re fucking crazy.” Theon says frankly. “And you don’t look fucking crazy, but who knows. Are you?”

Ramsay frowns, brows drawing together, throat working as he swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs against Theon’s palm. “I don’t--,” but he does, so Theon drops his free hand to hold Ramsay’s hip and applies the slightest bit of pressure to the one on Ramsay’s throat and Ramsay’s eyes go wide. Anyone could walk in and see this. Anyone could happen in on them, on this. And Theon doesn’t give a single shit.

He leans in close, angling his head to whisper into Ramsay’s ear. He’s better built, thicker, tougher. He squeezes Ramsay’s hip. “We don’t have much time,” Theon says, licking his lips.

“Time for what?” Ramsay asks. But at the same time his hands are raising to Theon’s shoulders. Pushing down none-too-gently. Theon resists the urge for a moment, pressing down on Ramsay’s throat, pushing his fingers into Ramsay’s bruise, but Ramsay doesn’t react, so Theon lowers himself to his knees. And isn’t this weird? Cuz it isn’t at all what he’d had in mind. But Theon has always prided himself on his ability to be flexible. And if that means blowing Ramsay Snow in the boys’ unlocked restroom, then so be it.

He’s almost surprised by the fact that Ramsay is half-hard. Blushing virgin that he thought he was violating, or maybe just one hell of an optimist. Theon palms Ramsay to full hardness while Ramsay looks down on him. Unblinking. That ice-grey gaze is foreign and commanding. Theon swallows, licks his lips again. Wonders if maybe he’s gotten himself in over his head here. Ramsay moves a hand from Theon’s shoulder to his face, cupping his jaw, fingers stroking over his cheek and under his eyes. Theon can feel his pulse, erratic and maddening, beating staccato in his thumb. He undoes Ramsay’s belt with little more urging, pulling and pushing until the material is out of the way.

And all the while, Ramsay just watches. Silent. Something like a hint of a smile hanging on the edges of his lips.

Theon closes his eyes.

And pretends he knows what he’s doing. When really, he couldn’t have less of a clue.

It isn’t like he hasn’t gotten blowjobs before (seriously, since he turned thirteen and learned that his cock was for more than just pissing he’s been coercing girls into giving him head) but getting and giving are two different things. Worlds and worlds of different. Getting his lips around it is just one small step. One part of the whole. Then there’s the new sensation of weight on his tongue and the way his lips are already protesting this decision and fuck. Theon fists his hands on his own knees and slides his head forward and Ramsay groans appreciatively so at least he has that to go on.

Ramsay’s hand is still touching Theon’s face, like he’s unsure where to put it, his nails scratching against Theon’s cheek. So Theon relocates it to his hair, guiding Ramsay’s hand with his own. And maybe he’s not so bad at this after all because Ramsay is making these small noises, sharp little intakes of breath and he’s swelling on Theon’s tongue and the taste is bitter and the stretch makes Theon’s eyes water but God damn he feels accomplished.

He gets over eager. Tries to take too much too fast and chokes, but even that seems to make Ramsay happy. When Theon looks up at him, ego only slightly bruised from his fit of coughing, he’s still grinning. He looks punch-drunk with it. He looks crazy. And Theon guesses that’s okay, it’s not like he has much choice in the matter honestly, because as soon as he’s recovered, Ramsay is dragging him back in. Pulling his hair so hard Theon winces.

“Say my name,” Theon says before Ramsay can shove his dick past his lips again and his own neglected cock twitches at the thought. It’s what got him into this rather odd situation to begin with, he may as well get something out of this.

Ramsay licks his lips. Eyes absolutely shining. “I don’t know your name.”

But that is a fucking lie because everyone knows Theon Greyjoy’s name. He wraps his hand around Ramsay’s cock and pulls back when Ramsay tugs his hair again. Ramsay’s mouth is open. Eyes narrowing. His tongue runs over his lips again and Theon can see the perfect white of his perfect teeth and the next time they get into something like this (yes, there will be a next time) he’s going to know what those lips and tongue and teeth feel like.

“Theon,” Ramsay breathes, voice creaking slightly.

“Little louder.”

“Theon.” Ramsay says and he’s pulling on Theon’s hair so hard it’s a wonder it hasn’t pulled out by the root.

“That’s more like it.”

And then it’s back to the task at hand, and mouth, and Theon looks up at Ramsay under his lashes and wraps his tongue around Ramsay’s cock and tries to remember all the things that feel good when done to him and it all sort of works itself out. Ramsay digs his fingers into Theon’s scalp as he comes, whining high in his throat and he says Theon’s name and that’s good enough for Theon. He wipes his chin and swallows what’s in his mouth and slides his lips off Ramsay’s cock and he tries to make it look dignified but that’s a little bit difficult. Especially when Ramsay is still staring at him. Especially when he’s still clearly hard in his jeans.

“Theon?” A voice that is not Ramsay’s says.

Oh fuck.

Theon turns to the speaker and Ramsay’s grip tightens in his hair and there’s Jon Snow. Staring at the two of them in open awe.

“I,” he starts, swallowing and his eyes are huge and more than anything Theon wishes Ramsay would let him go but before he can detangle himself Jon is speaking. “The bell rang and I just. Didn’t know. I’m. Robb was, that is.” His lack of cohesion would be funny in any other circumstance, but now it’s horrifying and Jon looks horrified. “I’m going to class,” Jon announces, suddenly. Back-pedaling out of the bathroom.

Only when he’s gone does Ramsay release his hold on Theon’s hair.

That should probably tell him something, but Theon is a little too absorbed in his own shame to notice.

“I’ll see you in class,” Ramsay says, like none of that just happened. Adding salt to the wound. Theon looks up at him and Ramsay cracks a small grin, crooked and sly, in total opposition to his straight, even teeth. And then he’s gone too, stepping past Theon and out of the bathroom. Theon stays on his knees, runs his fingers over his knuckles again, aimlessly. He has nowhere to go but back to class as well.

So with the bitter salt-sting of Ramsay’s come still clinging to the back of his throat, Theon stands.

He’s fifteen minutes late, which earns him a lecture and the threat of detention but Theon couldn’t care less. Ramsay Snow is watching him with a grin and Jon Snow won’t look at him.

He spends the entirety of class attempting to get his priorities straight, because he needs to have a word with both the fucking Snows, but he honestly doesn’t know which to approach first. But once again, fate intervenes, because the teacher calls his name as the final bell rings, all hands on her hips and prissy confidence, so Theon has to loiter behind. Jon Snow is gone before he’s even reached the front of the room. Ramsay lingers, taking his time packing his shit while the teacher tells Theon off again for his truancy. Which is fucking lame. But he doesn’t say that, he manages to keep his tongue under that much control.

And when she finally, finally, lets him go, he turns to find Ramsay gone too.

But not far.

He’s waiting by Theon’s locker, spinning the lock idly. Looking tense and nervous and perfectly virginal. Theon rolls his eyes, pushes Ramsay’s shoulder hard into the metal because he can. Ramsay doesn’t fight back. He even has the gall to look hesitant as Theon rounds on him.

“This isn’t anywhere near over, Ramsay Snow,” Theon mutters, boxing Ramsay in. Leaning so close his breath ruffles Ramsay’s hair. Ramsay stiffens at the use of that last name, but he doesn’t lash out. “Next time it’ll be you on your knees.”

Ramsay shivers, he actually shivers and Theon huffs a sigh because it’s too good, too contradictory. Ramsay is a mess, clearly, and Theon should bail now, while he still can, before he’s in too deep, because this isn’t normal, will never be normal and soon it’ll be too late. But he ignores that gut feeling, that echoing warning from the base of his spine and instead traces his fingers down Ramsay’s throat. Ramsay tips his head slightly, and says, “Are you sure?” and his lips are all quirked up and confident and Theon wants to bite that confidence away, wants to gnaw it out of existence. But there are people in the hall. And the two of them are drawing enough stares as it is. Come tomorrow morning, everyone will know the bat-shit new kid is banging the whore.

Theon curls his fingers, drawing his nails down the column of Ramsay’s throat and tears himself away. Forces himself to back off. Ramsay looks hesitant again, quietly wounded. Theon’s attention shifts, scanning the hall for Jon Snow, but the bastard is nowhere to be seen (probably already at Robb’s car, probably already telling Robb everything) and Theon grumbles under his breath and starts to move but Ramsay grabs his sleeve before he can leave. Holds it tight. So like the bathroom, his hand in Theon’s hair.

“Don’t.” Ramsay says, vulnerable. Close to begging.

Theon shrugs out of his grip, “See you later,” he says. And as he turns, as he goes, he could almost swear he sees something in Ramsay Snow’s eyes shiver, some vital shift. Gone as soon as it’s appeared. Gone before it’s ever really there.

He was right, it turns out, about Jon. By the time he’s reached the car, Robb and Jon are already together. Robb grins when he sees Theon, eyebrows raising dramatically.

“Heard you caught yourself one of those virginal freshmen you were eyeing,” Robb says as Theon gets closer. He considers for a moment lobbing his backpack at Jon’s head, then decides better of it and tosses his bag in the back instead, climbing over to sit next to it. On a normal day he’d argue Jon down for the front seat, but he isn’t in the mood for it.

He cracks a grin, eyeing Jon warily. “Something like that, I guess.” Theon says, evenly. Jon hasn’t yet glanced in his direction, is looking pointedly at his lap, and Theon gets it. He’d told Robb, Robb hadn’t gotten it. Robb has never been the quickest of the Stark’s by any stretch of the imagination. “Not exactly a freshman.”

“Not exactly,” Jon mutters from the front seat and Theon reaches forward and flicks him hard on the ear. “Fuck, Greyjoy, that hurt.”

Robb chuckles, starting the car, glances at Theon in the rearview. He makes a face that Theon doesn’t quite know how to interpret and then asks with a grin, “What? Nothing more to add? ‘Not exactly a freshman’ is hardly a Theon response,” his eyes flick to the road, and back. He looks concerned, Theon realizes, and maybe he was wrong in thinking that Robb hadn’t gotten it the first time. “I mean, we usually can’t get you to shut up about your trysts,” and the gender neutrality of the term punches Theon in the face this time.

“I don’t want to,” ‘offend Sansa’ is what he intends to say but then he realizes that she isn’t with them. “Where is your sister?”

Robb frowns, swallows. “It isn’t cool, being carted around by her big brothers, it seems. She decided she wanted to ride the bus. I’m sure it’s more about the fact that Jeyne Poole is there and will gossip with her than anything else.”

Gossip.

Theon wonders how fast it will take for the rumor to work its way around to the freshman crowd and the like of Sansa. He rests his chin in his hand. Jon glances at him, only once, eyes huge then he goes back to staring out the window. If it had been the other way around, Ramsay on his knees, Theon bets it wouldn’t be nearly as big a deal. Jon wouldn’t be nearly as skittish as he’s being.

But fuck it.

Theon doesn’t base his life off of Jon Snow, or Robb Stark or Asha and he certainly isn’t going to start now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plots, fire alarms, ghosts, blowjobs. You know, normal highschool routines.

Theon avoids Ramsay for the next two days, which is actually a lot harder than he would have thought. Ramsay Snow is a persistent son of a bitch.

“Some kid came around asking for you at lunch,” Robb says on Friday afternoon.

Ducking him at lunch had been easy. It was keeping away from him before and after class that had been the hard part.

“Really?” Theon asks with a grin, stretching his feet onto Robb’s dash.

Robb glares at him, though there is little real heat in the motion. “Yeah. Some new kid.”

“The one you were fucking.” Jon provides, unhelpfully.

“Jon.” Robb hisses.

“I’ve heard the word fucking before, Robb. You don’t have to treat me like a child.” Sansa complains from the backseat. Theon glances at her in the rearview. She’d been told by Catelyn that she had to ride home with her brothers; Sansa is clearly still sulking over the decision.

“Yeah, Robb,” Theon says, patting Robb’s shoulder. “And besides that wasn’t what happened. I blew him, it’s a tad different.” The day after had been a wreck. Students had looked at him like he was crazy too, infected with it and the story ranged from making out in front of the lockers after school to fucking against them. Theon had ignored the stares and the whispers. The bathroom incident had remained unmentioned, meaning Jon kept his tongue.

“Gross,” he hears Sansa mutter.

“Seriously,” Jon agrees.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Robb asks.

“What did he want?” Theon says, steering the conversation back to the original point.

“To know where you were.”

“And why you were avoiding him.”

“He’s really weird,” Sansa adds after her brothers have spoken. Theon turns to grin at her over his shoulder.

“He really is.” He says.

She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at him. A move very much her mother. “Is that why you’re avoiding him?”

Theon rolls his shoulders. “Not really.” He isn’t going to go into it with Sansa of all people. It had been a hard enough conversation to have with Robb the day after. Not that it should have been any surprise Theon’s tastes would eventually run to men. He’s done enough weird sexual stuff; it was really only a matter of time.

But somehow, Robb had still acted scandalized.

“What’d you tell him?” He asks, lowering his legs.

“That I didn’t know where you were.” Robb says. “Where were you?”

“Around.”

“If you were going to be all weird about it after the fact,” Jon says and Theon doesn’t need to turn to know he’s crossing his arms, “I don’t know why you bothered getting involved with him in the first place. He broke Edd Karstark’s nose.”

“Edd Karstark is a piece of shit,” Theon mutters. Robb eases the car to a stop. Hornwood and Forte. Unbidden Theon glances over to the house on the corner.

And isn’t that just fucking hilarious.

There’s a car in the driveway, beat up hatchback. And who should be getting out of it but Ramsay Snow. He isn’t looking in their direction, but the back of his head is unmistakable. Theon ducks as far below the dashboard as he can, closing his eyes.

Jon snickers.

The light changes and Robb gets the car moving again. Only then does Theon sit up, glancing back. The Dreadfort. He shakes his head, grinning faintly. It only seems right, really.

The rest of the weekend is a blur. Theon gets a call from some girl he had fucked about a party, but he doesn’t bother going. Robb gives him a look when he mentions the offer, but he doesn’t say anything. Just frowns in that way that Theon knows means he approves of the decision but he isn’t sure that he should. Wary. But he isn’t nearly as good at it as Ned Stark, so Theon ignores him.

He plans his strategy.

By the time Monday rolls around Theon is practically going mad with impatience.

He hops out of the car before Robb has even completely stopped, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he goes. Ramsay’s shitty car had still been in the drive when they’d pulled by and beating Ramsay there is a big part of his plan. Then he has to hunt down Patrek Mallister. But that shouldn’t take too long.

Theon pushes the note between the spaces of Ramsay’s locker, smiling to himself. It’s been a long time since he’s felt the need for this sort of game. With girls, with the easy ones Theon beds at least, there’s very little use for avoidance and all that shit. But Ramsay is coy and confusing and special, so Theon plays along.

It’s been a while since he’s needed any sort of tact. The change is almost refreshing.

Patrek only gives him a little bit of shit when Theon tracks him down about the key to the labs. He hems and haws and quotes his dad but a favor due is a favor due and stuff like that has always meant more to Patrek than it should. It takes Theon five minutes of talking to get the keys.

He had expected at least ten.

The hall outside the science lab is hardly empty, but Theon ignores the crowds and the stares and the whispers and just grins to himself and acts like he belongs there. Patrek had told him which key to use when he’d handed it over. Theon slips into the classroom without issue.

After that it’s just a waiting game.

Theon drops his bag on the teacher’s desk and walks over to the lab counters. Leans against them with his left shoulder drooping. And then his right. He musses his hair. Combs his fingers through it. Sits on the counter and lowers himself back down. Little things. A show of nerves. He wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Of this whole thing.

The bell rings.

No Ramsay.

Theon hops back up on the counter and sits with his knees together. He can hear the mass of students outside the closed classroom doors. Laughter and chatter, anonymous through the fake wood. Just noise. It lasts for five minutes, then slowly fades as the other children find their classes and rooms.

Theon frowns at his lap, curling his fingers into the countertop.

No Ramsay.

All this fucking planning and he gets stood up.

Theon could almost laugh again.

Or punch Ramsay Snow in the face next time he sees him.

He pushes off the counter, cursing under his breath. Mad at himself more than anyone else. For acting like a stupid teenage girl, all crush-struck and weak, for getting his stupid hopes up when the door cracks open.  
“Took you long enough,” Theon growls, flirtatious greeting forgotten under the weight of his anger.

Ramsay has the decency to blush, ducking his head in a manner that would be endearing if he were a girl. “I went to the wrong lab,” he admits. Not meeting Theon’s gaze. All innocent submission. Theon wonders if this time will work out like last time or if he’ll at least get consistency in this round. “Why were you avoiding me?”

The way that Ramsay’s voice shakes when he says it should be answer enough. Absence makes the heart grow fonder or some shit Catelyn Stark is always telling her children. Oddly enough, that’s one lesson Theon’s absorbed. But he can’t tell Ramsay that.

“I wasn’t avoiding anyone, you just don’t know my habits.”

“Yeah right. Even your brothers didn’t know where you were.”

“Robb Stark and Jon Snow are not my brothers.” Theon says, quicker than he intends, losing his cool. Telling more than he means to. Parentage has always been a sore spot. He tries to recover, rolls his head and leans back on the counter again. He knows how he looks when he does it. Creating a smooth line with his body, all flat edges and planes.

Ramsay’s eyes narrow.

He’s already closed the door behind him, but now Theon hears the lock click into place.

All hope for consistency down the drain.

Ramsay crosses the room like a kid though, bumping into no less than two desks in his haste to get to where Theon is practically laying across the counter. He doesn’t do anything once he gets there though, just touches Theon’s hip. Fingers smoothing over the material of his t-shirt. Running along his waist band. Bold touches. But Ramsay is blushing the whole time. The coloring makes his eyes stand out even more, Theon notices, uncomfortable with the realization.

He swallows the discomfort, shifts his hips in Ramsay’s grip, urging his hands more forward.

“You’re here for a reason, right?” he asks, grinning. Cocksure. Keeping up appearances.

Ramsay grins right back. His lips are so pink. Another distracting, uncomfortable thought. Theon won’t be the one to break though, won’t be the first one to initiate a kiss. “I’m not gonna blow you in public,” Ramsay says quietly, voice pinched with amusement. His hands tighten on Theon’s hips, thumbs digging in, “I’m not a slut.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” But Theon knows what it means, knows an insult when he hears one. He squints, covering his hurt at the barb with a smile.

“Come home with me.”

It answers nothing.

Theon rolls his eyes. “We have school, dumbass. The offer was for here, now.”

“I’m not dumb,” Ramsay’s tone is a sulk, Theon wonders if he’s struck a nerve, files the thought away for later inspection. “And we’re already playing hooky.” A childish term, it makes Theon grin.

“They have truancy officers who watch the parking lots, you know,” he says, though he knows damn well it’s a myth. The two police officers who work at the school don’t give two shits if the seniors cut. They spend most of their time in the front office flirting with the secretaries.

Ramsay smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Pushes his hand into Theon’s pocket. Theon pretends the motion doesn’t make his breath catch just the slightest, caught off-guard. “I’m sure,” Ramsay says, fingers closing over Theon’s lighter, the movement huge in the confines of the material, “we can think of some way to distract them.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So you told me.”

“We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“It’s not like we’re actually gonna light anything on fire,” Ramsay says, all low confidence. He taps Theon’s lighter against Theon’s nose and glances up.

The science lab has a sprinkler and smoke detector at every station.

Theon wonders how Ramsay came up with this so quickly, how he could take advantage of such a detail so easily.

“We’re going to get caught.” Theon says. Weakly. His last line of defense.

Ramsay chuckles. “Are you always such a pussy?”

Something about the taunt, from this boy especially, rubs raw along Theon’s nerves. He grabs his lighter from Ramsay. Pushes the dark haired boy back and climbs up on the counter. Patrek is going to fucking kill him. And Robb. And Asha. And probably Ned Stark when he finds out.

But the here and now is much more pressing and the wide-eyed look Ramsay is giving him is more gratifying than the future threat is frightening.

Theon grins.

Flicks the lighter open and waves it under the detector.

A moment passes, one heart beat. Then two.

The alarm is shrill, all the stations going off at once. Sprinklers opening like a floodgate.

Theon gets drenched. He hops off the counter, sneakers squeaking, and slips, falling into Ramsay. Ramsay’s lips are still pink, quirked up in a dangerous, gloating smile. His hair is plastered to his forehead. His eyes are bright.

Later, Theon will blame the adrenaline.

He presses himself against Ramsay, thigh to shoulder, grasps Ramsay’s hips and holds him still. Ramsay’s clothes are also drenched, the material feels weird under Theon’s palm, his shirt sticks to his skin as Theon’s fingers try to burrow under it.

His lips taste like mint.

Just as innocent as Theon had dared to imagine.

His legs slide apart when Theon presses a knee against them and his fingers weave into Theon’s hair. Giving himself over. Submitting to the kiss completely.

Theon shivers against him, caught up in it. Like sitting outside in a storm. Electricity in his bones. He moves his lips and, clumsily, Ramsay mirrors the motion. Virgin kisses. Fucking beautiful. If Theon wasn’t quite hard before, he is now.

“I,” Ramsay starts when Theon pulls away. But they don’t have time for it. Theon grabs Ramsay’s hand and tugs, stopping only to grab his bag. He pulls him out of the room and toward the back stairs. There’s still a chance they’ll get caught, an added sense of urgency, so different from the bathroom and yet.

“Where are you parked?” He asks.

“East lot.” Which is perfect, far from the front office. They draw a few stares as it is, as other students mill out of their classrooms. The fire alarms flash in every corridor, their scream cutting off most conversation. No one else is drenched though. The quicker they get to Ramsay’s car the better.

The shitty hatchback doesn’t have automatic locks.

Theon bounces from foot to foot as Ramsay takes his time with the unlocking. The few students huddled at the other end of the parking lot don’t even spare them a glance. As soon as Theon has pulled the car door closed, the weight of what they’ve done settles in his brain. Like teenagers in a sitcom. Stupid and juvenile and rebellious.

“We’re so dumb,” he says, looking over at Ramsay. But if the stick shift weren’t between them, Theon would be all over him, contradicting himself. Ramsay doesn’t bother replying, starts the motor with a grin. Theon really isn’t sure what to say after that. He peers at the faces of the other students as they pull out of the parking spot, heading for the exit, but he doesn’t see anyone he knows. Theon sighs, leans his head against the window.

“You live in a haunted house, you know,” he says, more for something to say than any real sense of mischief. Ramsay glances at him, eyes flicking to Theon then the road and back.

“You know where I live?”

“Small town.” Theon responds. Rolling his head to look at Ramsay better. His arms are stiff, hands holding the wheel a little tighter than necessary. “And besides, everyone knows about the Dreadfort.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m totally serious,” Theon says, grinning now. Warming up to the topic. “See it’s one of the oldest houses in the area. Used to be this baron’s summer home. Surrounded by woods and wilderness. Before everything was built up. It used to be one of the only places for miles.”

Ramsay licks his lips, glancing in Theon’s direction again. But he doesn’t interrupt, so Theon figures he’s caught his attention.

“The baron’s wife was the Lady Hornwood--it’s where the street name came from, in case you were wondering—and she was this awful, bitch of a woman. Demanding, cruel. She would fire servants for no reason at all, chase them off simply because they looked at her the wrong way. Needless to say, even when staying in his summer home, the Baron Hornwood rarely stayed in home. More often than not he was out hunting. It happened on one of those nights, when he was away and the Lady was alone. She had sent the servants away, the stories say, because the cook had burned her stew. The last thing we know for sure, is she flung the food away, shattered the dishes and fired every person on the premises.

“We can only speculate what happened next. It’s fair enough to assume that she went to the widow’s walk to look for her husband’s camp. To peer out into the darkness of the forest and see if she could spot his camp fire way out in the distance. Whether she could or not, I can’t say. Either way, she was so intent on her searching that she didn’t hear the door to the attic slide closed behind her. She didn’t hear the clicking of the ancient lock. Or who knows, maybe she did. Either way it was already too late.”

“What do you mean ‘too late’?” Ramsay’s voice shakes ever-so-gently as he asks. His eyes are firmly glued to the road. Theon reaches over, takes Ramsay’s right hand off the wheel, noting the tenseness.

“She was locked in. Locks back then were old and sturdy,” Theon drawls, pushing Ramsay’s fingers apart, separating each one before folding them down, “and the Lady Hornwood was hardly fit and strong. She lasted four days they say. Four days alone in room. Nothing to do. Nothing to eat. She had sent the servants away herself, she had damned herself. I don’t know. I can only imagine that helped the madness.”

“You said it was haunted.”

“It is haunted. When her husband got home on the fifth day, he had one of his men break down the door and there was his lady,” Theon rubs Ramsay’s knuckles, “dead. Starved. But in her last moments, in her madness, she’d turned on herself. If you get hungry enough, crazy enough. Well. I mean, a finger,” he raises Ramsay’s pointer to his lips, tongue slipping out, nipping at the tip, “doesn’t look that much different than a strip of meat. She had ripped all the flesh off of her fingers. And then she died.”

Ramsay swallows. Takes his hand back from Theon.

“That’s stupid,” he says, finally. Decisively. “There’s no way that’s true.”

“It’s true. Robb and I…”Theon trails off. He doesn’t want Ramsay to know that much about him, not really. He isn’t doing this to be Ramsay’s friend.

“Who is Robb?”

“My conscious.”

“You should be able to make decisions for yourself,” Ramsay says, worldly wise. Fucking stupid. Juvenile. Theon fists his hands on his knees. His jeans are beginning to dry, but the fabric is still damp under his palms. “You shouldn’t let anyone tell you what to do.”

“I don’t let anyone tell me what to do.”

“Yeah right,” Ramsay says. Turning the motor off. Ramsay glances out the window. He hadn’t even realized how long his story telling had taken. The Dreadfort looms above him. More menacing from the driveway than from the street. Which is stupid because Theon isn’t a fucking kid anymore and he shouldn’t be scared of a ghost story.

“What do you mean by that?” Theon asks, but Ramsay is already opening the door and stepping out of the car. Not even giving Theon a second glance. With a sigh, Theon follows in suit. He looks over to Ramsay as he closes the car door. Asks again.

Ramsay shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.” He rolls his shoulders. “It’s just. Something I think about sometimes.” Enigmatic. It answers nothing. Or Theon is just too slow to catch the meaning. Either way, Ramsay seems to think that’s the end of the conversation. He walks up to the front door, fishing keys out of his back pocket. Reluctantly, Theon follows.

He loiters at the threshold, after Ramsay has unlocked the door and pushed inside. A dog is barking, dogs, more than one. Different pitches. The sound is muted though. They’re on a different floor of the house. Theon braces his hand on the door jamb.

“Stop being a fucking baby,” he mutters, under his breath.

The last time he was here, he had not hesitated at all.

The last time he was here, he and Robb had been lucky to avoid trespassing charges.

It’s brighter now, though. Working lights in the front hall. Theon forces himself to step inside. Closes the door behind himself. It’s easier after that. Much easier. He follows Ramsay into the kitchen, passing a door on the way. It’s where the barking is coming from. It sounds, now that Theon is closer, like three dogs. But it could be four.

“Do you want something to drink?” Ramsay asks, opening one of the cabinets. The cabinets are new, cherry wood, glass paneling. Wine glasses.

Theon smiles, quick and sharp. “It’s eight-thirty in the morning, you fucking alcoholic.”

“And?” He’s fingering a corkscrew. Leaning back against the counter. If he weren’t so obviously trying to mirror what Theon had done earlier, it would be more effective. As it is, Theon just crosses into Ramsay’s space, pushes his knee between his thighs. Cutting to where they had sort of left off.

“I’m not here for pleasantries. We had something of a goal, remember?” he whispers, running his fingers down Ramsay’s arm. Prying the corkscrew out of his hand to toss it onto the counter. Ramsay swallows, throat bobbing.

“I remember.”

“So do you want to do it here, or do you think maybe your room would be a little bit more appropriate?” he grins, like he really couldn’t care less. Here or there. In truth, he really couldn’t care less. Now that he’s thinking about it in more of a short term gain way, an incoming blowjob sort of way, it seems less and less like a bad idea. So they skipped school? So they set off a fire alarm when there was no actual emergency? So fucking what? Big fucking deal.

He wonders if Ramsay will choke, if he’ll make those same little sighing noises around Theon’s cock that he did when Theon had his dick in his mouth. He hopes so. He really does.

“My room,” Ramsay says, breathless. Theon wants to kiss him until he changes his mind, because it means less walking but it also would probably mean more effort.

“Deal,” Theon steps back, hands at his sides. “Lead the way.”

And Ramsay does, grinning as he does so. Theon’s feet know where they’re going before his brain registers it, his walk slowing. Unsure. Nervous.

“About that story,” Ramsay says, positively glowing as they reach the stairs, “I haven’t noticed any ghosts yet.”

“You’re rooming in the attic.” Theon says. It isn’t a question. Of course he is. How could it be any other way?

Well. Shit.

Ramsay chuckles, pulls the door that leads to the rickety attic stairs open. Last time, there was no door, at least not down here. Theon swallows.

“Are you actually frightened?” Ramsay doesn’t sound sympathetic, his expression is tight with amusement. Theon glares at him.

“No.”

“Liar. Fuckin’ pansy,” the tone is teasing. Ramsay’s face is not. Theon rolls his shoulders, trying to salvage something, and pushes past Ramsay like it will prove he is brave. Like it will prove anything.

There is another door at the top of the stairs.

Theon knows this door, though it had still shown signs of being broken inwards back then. Someone has fixed it up, but the lock is still the same cold, heavy-looking metal. Theon touches it slowly, running his fingers over the intricate weaving.

“It’s unlocked. What are you waiting for?”

Theon will not tell Ramsay about it. His night locked in the Dreadfort. So he doesn’t answer, just drops his hand away from the lock and pushes the door open with his shoulder. He closes his eyes as he does, imagining her hands, the fingers chewed to the bone, moonlight shining through her, dead eyes and slack jaw and death.

And when he opens them.

Nothing.

Sunlight from the widow’s walk. A bed to the left, a couch to the right. Big screen television. Xbox 360 and Playstation 3. Posters for the Arcade Fire and Okkervil River and The Besnard Lakes.

Theon lets out the breath he hadn’t been completely aware he was holding.

“It’s different.” he says, more to himself than to Ramsay.

Ramsay’s hands slide over his hips. “Different than what?”

“Than nothing. Are you loaded or something?”

“Rich?”

“Yeah, rich.”

“I dunno. I guess. Lady Hornwood died of boredom or whatever, but when you’re locked up here, you’ll have plenty to do.”

Theon blinks, turns. He heard that wrong. He must have heard that wrong.

“What?”

“Well I mean,” Ramsay tilts his head. An innocent gesture, though his eyes are narrowed and that gleam of amusement hasn’t gone anywhere, “if someone were to get locked up here at least there’s stuff to do. Electricity and all. It’s not that difficult a concept.”

Theon flushes at the insult, subtle as it is. He could out-talk Ramsay, probably, could cut back in the same sly, innocent ways, but it’s easier just to box him in, back him up against the door and use his body to make Ramsay shut up.

Truth be told, Ramsay doesn’t seem to mind Theon’s method all that much. His hands press into Theon’s waist and when Theon kisses him he responds with the same blind enthusiasm he had in the lab. Eager but inexperienced. The twenty minute break has made him no more proficient at kissing. The thought of those same virgin lips on his dick, sloppy and wet and perfect makes Theon’s hips twitch. Ramsay slides his hands forward at the motion, palming the front of Theon’s jeans.

“You’re such a whore,” Ramsay chuckles when Theon breaks the kiss to groan into his shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

“Are you really sure you want me to?” The question is accompanied by another caress, pressing almost painfully hard against Theon’s erection.

“God no, just,” Theon pushes at Ramsay’s shoulders, nosing through his hair, “come on. Don’t fucking tease.”

Ramsay grins. Tilts his head to catch Theon’s lips in another terrible, tonguey kiss. “Couch.”

The bed is closer. Theon glances at it, tugs Ramsay’s collar and points but Ramsay just shakes his head and practically drags Theon to the couch. Maybe it’s a personal space issue, or an intimacy thing, once Theon’s knees hit the couch cushions he stops caring about the particulars.

Strangely enough, it’s Ramsay who unzips first. Smirking down at Theon. He hadn’t sat when Theon had. The couch leaves Theon’s face at convenient crotch height.

Theon rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

“Come on. I’ll do you after, I promise.”

Which is more than a little fucking lame and probably a huge lie, but Theon’s gotten himself in this far once again, so he may as well just suck it up and suck it. He shakes his head anyway, reaching forward, hands cradling Ramsay’s hips, bringing him closer.

“You had better,” Theon grumbles, stroking Ramsay’s cock. Making it look more distasteful than it really is. He had sort of expected he’d be doing something like this again, he had just been hoping to get off first this time.  
“Whatever you say, slut.” he says, tugging on Theon’s hair. Urging him in.

And they’re really going to have to do something about the name-calling because Theon isn’t against a little bit of dirty talk but he isn’t sure that it’s play from Ramsay. He isn’t really sure about anything, when it comes to Ramsay, except that the kid is impatient as fuck when it comes to blowjobs.

It goes much the same as the first time, only Theon manages not to choke this time and when Ramsay’s breathing gets that erratic staccato he pulls back and finishes him off with his hand.  
“You’re good at that,” Ramsay breathes into Theon’s hair, bent nearly double, arms braced on the back of the couch.

Theon shrugs. Lifts his hips in what he hopes reads as a cool get-on-with-it gesture and not desperation. Ramsay chuckles and Theon isn’t so sure his intended message came across. But it doesn’t really matter one way or the other because Ramsay is moving regardless. He presses Theon’s shoulders, slotting the two of them together on the couch. Not ideal for blowjobs. But Theon allows himself to be moved. There’s always a chance.

“I’m not going to blow you,” Ramsay says, keeping his gaze trained on Theon’s. He doesn’t even sound a bit remorseful. Smug asshole.

“It’s called returning the favor.” Theon can’t help his tone. Sharp edges. Something catty and snubbed. One too many insults for the day.

“I’ll return the favor,” Ramsay grins, “but I’m not going to blow you. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“That isn—,”

Ramsay cuts him off with a kiss, hands slipping into his jeans. Theon is surprised enough by the clumsy way that Ramsay’s tongue traces into his mouth that he doesn’t follow the admonition through. He would have expected Ramsay to be more hung up about post-fellatio spit swapping. And behind the inexperience is something almost tender. Eager to please. Ramsay’s hand loosens his button and Theon kicks off his own pants and underwear and Ramsay doesn’t even hesitate in grabbing Theon’s cock.

His touches are rough at first. Virgin, Theon thinks again, biting his lip and twisting.

“Little bit too--,”

“Sorry,” Ramsay says, mumbles really. He’s blushing. He readjusts his grip and tries again. “I’m just.” He licks his lips. “That better?” He actually sounds like he cares.

Theon swallows, moving carefully, building off of Ramsay’s slow tempo. “Yeah, much.”

There is sweat on Ramsay’s temple. When he twists his hand, pressing his fingers harder against the underside of Theon’s dick, Theon pulls Ramsay’s face to his and licks it away. He wants to tell Ramsay not to be nervous, he wants to provide some sort of reassurance, but he doesn’t know how to. Doesn’t want it thrown back at him. Ramsay is being the blushing damsel again, but Theon doesn’t know how long the act will hold, or if it’s here to stay this time. So Theon forces it back to what he knows, what he can understand. Quick and dirty. Half-dressed fucking on the couch while playing hookie. Easy mode.

He bites Ramsay’s lip, harder than he intends, groaning against Ramsay’s mouth. He tangles his hands in Ramsay’s hair and holds him in place. Whines through his nose as Ramsay’s touches get rougher again, hands sliding easier with Theon’s pre-cum and sweat. A good rougher.

“Just like that,” Theon says, eyes closed, voice catching on his teeth, words a mangled whisper. “Keep doing it just like that.” The kissing is forgotten in the wake of his impending orgasm, Theon breathes in through his nose and fucks into Ramsay’s fist. “I’m gonna come.”

Ramsay chuckles, breath puffing against Theon’s temple. “Then do it.”

Theon blinks. Ramsay is smiling. His eyes are so blue and distantly Theon is aware that this, this moment, right now is the end for him.

There is no going back.

And then the thought it gone, whited out. Erased. His muscles snap taut and his breathing stops as all the heat pooled in his stomach uncoils. He comes between the two of them, spilling into Ramsay’s hand, making a mess of the t-shirt he’s still wearing. Theon falls back into the cushions, boneless, gasping. He’s never come that hard before in his life. He presses the heel of his palm to his eyes and tries to get back to himself. Tries to remember what he was thinking about just before he came. It had seemed important at the time.

“You can take a nap,” Ramsay offers. His knees are still on either side of Theon’s hips. His voice comes from somewhere above. Theon isn’t going to open his eyes to see the smug expression that accompanies the words.

“We have school.”

“I think it’s pretty clear neither of us are going back to school today.” Ramsay says. His weight moves off the couch. His voice is slightly further away. “Sorry, I’m late because I was too busy sucking dick and I missed the bus? I couldn’t come to math because I was coming all over Theon Greyjoy’s face? Yeah, really great excuses.”

“Just shut up, okay? For like a minute.” Theon cracks his eyes open. “I get your point.”

“So just nap. I gotta like, let the dogs out, but I’ll be back up in a bit, okay?”

Domestic. Theon doesn’t quite know how he feels about something so domestic. But he also doesn’t really feel like trying to fight back into his pants right this moment either. “Yeah,” he says, lowering his head and letting his eyes flutter shut, “yeah. Okay.”

\--

Theon wakes up and the first thing he realizes is his neck is cramped as shit and his arm is more than just a little bit numb. He sits up, hissing at the stiffness in his spine, holding his neck. Ramsay is nowhere to be seen. Theon’s phone is under his jeans, he keys in the password as he pulls his boxers on.

He isn’t really surprised to see that it’s two in the afternoon.

It explains the soreness.

He also isn’t surprised by the messages. Two from Robb, one from Jon (though he knows Jon would only send a message if Robb pestered him into it, so really it’s more like three from Robb). Theon smirks, debates asking for a ride home. School lets out at 2:10. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

But something feels off. Theon glances around again.

No Ramsay.

He scrubs his hand across his face and stands. Ramsay isn’t in his bed.

The door to the attic is closed.

Dread gnaws at the inside of Theon’s throat, clawing at his stomach. Raking at him.

The lock is old and heavy, wrought-iron. Same as all those years ago. Theon doesn’t look at it as he touches the door handle. It doesn’t turn.

Theon wishes he were more surprised by that.

But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everything has been.

Inevitable doesn’t make it any less distressing.

Theon tugs on the handle harder, rattling it. He pushes his shoulder into the door, puts all his weight on his heels and pulls, slams his palm open-handed against the wood. Nothing. No use.

He remembers the woman. Ned had called her a figment of Robb and Theons’ imaginations. But Theon had never believed that.

He turns, bracing his back against the door and glances around.

Even in the daylight there is something sinister about the widow’s walk.

Theon digs his hands into his temples. Forces himself to breathe.

Ramsay is probably on the other side of the door, laughing to himself as Theon panics.

But the thought isn’t comforting. Theon turns again, pounding on the door with his fist. Yelling. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Just yelling into the wood.

Crying.

Pleading.

Nothing.

Theon leans his head on the door. Eyes closed.

He can’t hear Ramsay beyond it.

The house creaks, old houses settle at the absolute worst times. Ramsay shivers. He isn’t going to look in the widow’s walk. He isn’t. He hits the door again, palm flat.

And like magic it opens.

Theon isn’t expecting it, his weight is wrong, balanced too heavily on the unyielding wood. When it yields so suddenly, he loses his balance. Only just catches himself with a hand on the door frame, face inches from crashing into his savior’s chest.

It isn’t Ramsay.

Though the resemblance is uncanny. Ramsay’s father, Theon assumes. They have the same eyes, the same disinterested air. This man is slighter than Ramsay, taller, thinner. Crueler. Theon isn’t sure where that last thought comes from. He looks only slightly startled to find a stranger locked in his son’s room.

“With all that racket you were making, I’m assuming” the man says, and his voice is quiet, not much more than a whisper, “that you aren’t a burglar.”

“Burglar? No. Uhh, sir. Mister Snow. I’m a--,”

“Bolton.” Like father like son. Theon mentally slaps himself for the slip. “You’re a friend of Ramsay’s.”

Theon doesn’t know if it’s a question, the statement lacks all inflection that would make it such. He nods, absently. Mister Bolton’s eyes scan him, up and down, and Theon leans back. His cheeks are flushed from his earlier panic, his right hand an angry, bruised red. He looks crazy and he knows it.

“He isn’t here.”

“What?”

“Ramsay. He went out. Some time ago.” Short statements. Clipped. Cold. Mister Bolton tips his head, eyes never stopping in their scrutiny. “He neglected to mention he had a guest.” He doesn’t smile as he says it and Theon isn’t sure if he should apologize for his presence or not.

“I’m sorry?”

Ramsay’s father smiles, a curl of lips, facial movement, nothing more. Theon’s seen a smile that detached before. “No need for apologies…”

“Theon.”

“Theon what?”

“Theon, sir?”

“I was asking for your last name.”

Theon blushes. Looking down at his feet. Intimidated and out of his depth. Adults don’t talk to him casually, but he’s learned what face to wear with most. He has perfected his flippant teenaged responses. But this encounter is so beyond him, so surreal.

“Greyjoy.”

The man ponders the name for a moment. Committing it to memory or something. Maybe trying to place it.

Theon clears his throat when Ramsay’s father says nothing else. Shuffles his feet. “May I…err be excused, sir? I have…”

“Homework?” Mister Bolton provides, not unhelpfully, when Theon flounders. He only looks a little condescending.

“Yeah. A shit ton. So uh.”

Mister Bolton steps aside.

“It was nice meeting you,” Theon breathes as he dodges past, practically tripping down the stairs. 

Theon forgoes texting Robb once he’s gotten out of the house, instead he just focuses on getting as far away from the Dreadfort as possible, embarrassment and anger tight on his heels.

\--

“Where were you all day?” Jon asks as Theon slams the door to the Stark house behind him. They are sitting on the couch, Jon and Robb. Perfect little jerks. Theon rolls his eyes.

“Nowhere.”

“Principal Baratheon was--,”

“I don’t fucking care what that stupid, bloated whale wanted, Jon.” Theon growls. Stalking past the two of them. The half an hour walk has done nothing to soothe Theon’s spirits. He’s mad at himself and Ramsay and the whole situation and he doesn’t even really know why. Because he’d been made a fool of? Not so much. It’s something else. Something deeper.

“So it wasn’t you?” Robb asks, standing, following Theon into the kitchen.

“What wasn’t me?”

“That set off the alarm.”

Theon sighs. Because it isn’t something that will just be over and done with no questions asked. False alarms are a serious issue, they’ve been told that since elementary school.

“Did you tell them it was me?”

“What were we supposed to do? They called us to the office, Jon and me and Sansa. Couple of others. Kids from your class. Asha. They were asking us all these questions and stuff. The fire department is outraged and the school is in some serious shit. You could get suspended off of this, dude.”

In his pocket, Theon’s phone vibrates, but he ignores it. Crosses his arms.

“What if I didn’t do it?”

Robb rolls his shoulders, helpless. “I think we both know that you did.”

“Did they call Eddard?”

“Not that I know of. I won’t tell him until you do.”

Giving Theon the chance to be the bigger man. Giving Theon the chance to do the right thing. His phone vibrates again against his thigh.

“Where were you?”

“Seriously,” Theon says, low enough that Jon can’t overhear them easily, “nowhere.”

Robb narrows his eyes. Then, almost off-handedly adds. “They called that new kid to the office too, you know. I passed him on my way out, but Jon says he hadn’t shown up to class before the alarm went off.” Robb licks his lips. “Weird isn’t? That he’d show up like that.”

Theon blinks.

Ramsay was at the school? Ramsay had gone back to school? The anger that had been lost resurfaces. Theon shoves Robb out of the way and stalks up to his room. Robb isn’t so easily lost though.

“Did he make you do it?”

Theon rolls his eyes. He would slam his door shut, but Robb has his hand braced against the frame. He wouldn’t move it, not with the mood he’s in. He’d let Theon break his hand before he gave up this line of questioning. Like a dog with a bone. “I wanted to give him the blow job.”

“I meant the alarm.”

“No one makes me do anything. I think for myself.”

Robb smirks and in that motion is a parody of Ramsay’s earlier grin.

“Shut up.” Theon says, growls really, turning away from Robb and his stupid smile.

“I’m just--,”

“I said shut up. Get out of my face, Robb. I’m done with this.”

“Yeah but I’m--,”

Theon pushes him. Hard. He’s smaller than Robb. Robb isn’t quite stout, but he’s certainly more solid than Theon. It doesn’t matter. Theon catches him enough off-guard that Robb stumbles back and Theon does slam the door then, locking it before Robb can fight back. It’s a stupid, childish move. But Theon hasn’t exactly made a shining example of himself today.

Robb knocks twice, pounds on the door. Theon can practically see the impact of his hand against the wood. Then he gives up. Theon collapses on his bed and covers his eyes. In his pocket his phone vibrates. Reminders of the texts he’d gotten earlier. With a sigh, Theon pulls the phone out.

He expects it to be Patrek, or Asha. Someone coming to chide him through the grapevine. Instead, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize, not someone logged in his contacts. It isn’t hard to guess who it is though. Very little mystery there.

‘Where the hell did you go?’ the first text reads.

Theon doesn’t wonder how Ramsay got his number when Theon himself hadn’t given it to him. It only seems appropriate that he would have it somehow. Theon takes a moment, observing the use of capitalization, the question mark at the end. He wouldn’t have guessed from Ramsay’s personality that he would be a formal texting sort of person.

‘I need you to come back,’ the second text reads, ‘You were supposed to be here.’

Theon rolls his eyes.

The third text stops him half-way through the motion.

‘I told them it was me, you dick. I took all the blame. You were supposed to be here because I did this for you.’

Theon swallows. His fright at being locked in the attic seems distant now, under the weight of that statement. Ramsay took the blame. Ramsay threw himself under the bus for Theon. It seems wrong, somehow, too easy, too convenient. But the words are there.

For him.

Theon bites his lips and tries to remember the last time someone did something for him.

He saves Ramsay as a contact. Calls the number.

Ramsay answers after two rings.

“Who is this?” Theon asks. Playing it cool. Or trying to. He doesn’t quite understand Ramsay’s sudden and deep obsession with him, just as he hasn’t understood his own responses.

He can hear Ramsay swallow. Can hear the anger in the way Ramsay is breathing. “You know who it is, asshole.”

“You locked me in.”

“So you wouldn’t leave.”

“And yet.”

“I went to the school and turned myself in. False alarms are a crime, I didn’t want you to…”

Theon closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t act like a martyr. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

The way Ramsay’s breathing catches could be from smiling or frowning. Theon imagines both and then settles on a smile. Light and playing across his stupid pink lips that Theon is rapidly becoming enamored with. “I only got a warning. Detention for the next few weeks and I have to volunteer at the fire department on the weekends for six months..”

A light sentence all things considered. “How’d you swing that?”

“I’m a good talker.” Ramsay sighs. “I can probably get that volunteer job cut down to Sundays and be done with it in a month.”

“Robert Baratheon would have had my head.”

“Yeah but you aren’t me.” Ramsay chuckles. “You really don’t know who I am, do you? I thought maybe you were just like…I don’t know. Chasing fame. Trying to get some gossip. But you really are clueless aren’t you?”

Theon sits up. Ramsay’s words cut across him like cold water to the face. Drenching and sudden. “What are you talking about?”

“Will you come over? I’ll tell you if you come over.”

“Just tell me now.”

“Will you come over after?”

“Depends on what you tell me.” Theon says, honest enough.

Ramsay chuckles. “I’ll come pick you up. It’ll be easier to do this in person, believe me.”

Theon should say no. Theon knows he should say no. But Ramsay put himself on the line for him and ulterior motives or no, he still deserves for Theon to at least hear him out. He doesn’t quite get the need for secrecy, but the mention of fame has his interest piqued. Despite himself.

“Yeah. Okay, fine. You win,” he says, sighing. Chalking it up to the inevitable pull of fate. He’s been doomed since the bathroom incident. Since before that even.

“Text me your address okay?”

“How did you get my number anyway?”

Ramsay pauses. Theon can hear the intake of his breath shift ever-so-slightly. “I looked at your permanent record while Mr. Baratheon was seeing the Stark’s out. Pretty careless of them to leave that shit out, if you ask me.”  
The violation of his privacy is hardly a surprise. Theon could really care less, truth be told.

“I’ll text you the address. It’s like a fifteen minute drive.”

“Okay. I’ll see you--,”

Theon hangs up. Rolls his head and closes his eyes. His phone vibrates in his hand.

‘You hung up on me.’ The text reads.

Theon smirks. He has to keep the upper hand somehow. Or at least the illusion of it. He types in the address and hits the send button before he can second guess himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry for taking forever and a week and a month and a day to update, life has been happening all up in my life but yeah. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and will be around for the next one whenever that happens. Thanks as always and any comments/critiques are always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap yourselves in, shit's getting nuts.

“So this is my dad,” Ramsay says. Theon hasn’t even gotten in the car yet, barely has the door open when Ramsay begins shoving his smart phone in Theon’s direction.

Getting out of the house had been pretty easy. Robb and Jon hadn’t been quiet when they’d left to pick up the younger Stark’s from the bus stop. The dogs had barked and whined and Theon had just waited until the noise died down and had slipped out. He would send a text to Robb later, letting him know where he was. Maybe. If he felt like it.

“I met your dad,” Theon says, taking the phone only after he’s climbed in. Only after he’s shut the door and clicked his seatbelt on. Ignoring the jiggling of Ramsay’s hand, the impatience in it. And indeed, the man in the photo Ramsay is showing him is the man who had let Theon out of the attic. He looks just as detached in the photo as he had in real life.

Ramsay pulls away from the curb as Theon looks at the phone. He glances over twice before speaking. “You don’t recognize him?”

“Should I?”

“Don’t read the news much, do you?” Ramsay says with a chuckle.

Theon rolls his eyes. “So he’s what? Like famous?”

“And that’s how we’re like loaded.” Ramsay says, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal. “He’s a lawyer. Pretty big time. Lots of high profile cases. Lots of high profile people.” They’re at a stop light, he takes his phone back, flicks his fingers over the screen and holds it back for Theon. Another photo of Mister Bolton, this time with his arm around a smiling, balding man who sort of resembles a weasel. Theon thinks he maybe recognizes the weasel man, but he can’t be sure.

“So why move here? Not exactly prime real estate for a big time lawyer.”

“That’s what I said when he told me we were moving here. Not much to do in the North-ass suburbs. But dad seems to think it’s good for me—for us—to get out of the spotlight.” The slip is nearly seamless, Ramsay doesn’t even flinch. But Theon catches it all the same.

“Good for you?” he asks, grinning slightly. Ramsay frowns. Takes his phone back again. He looks down at it before slipping it into his pockets. His hands are tight on the steering wheel.

“For the family.”

Theon shrugs the answer off. It isn’t anywhere near the truth, he can figure out that much. Ramsay did something in the city, or got himself into something in the city and his father moved the two of them out here to get away from it. Simple enough.

“So your dad got you out of trouble today?” he asks.

“Not today. The first day though.”

“When you fucked up Edd Karstark?”

“I only broke his nose,” Ramsay says, touching the shadow of the bruise on his chin. The week has done wonders for the injury. The same cannot be said for Edd. “Besides, he hit me first.”

“He recognized you?”

Ramsay narrows his eyes and nods.

“What’d you do?”

“I hit him with my textbook.”

“I meant that he’d recognize you. And what’s Snow all about? Witness protection? An alias?” Theon is teasing, but underneath the mocking he’s truly interested.

“The last name thing was my dad’s idea too. He thought it would,” Ramsay trails off, frowning.

“Would help you stay anonymous?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s bad enough he moved us to this shithole of a town, I’m not hiding any more than that.”

“Hiding from what? What did you do?”

Ramsay bites his lip. “I just. Got into some shit.”

Theon rolls his eyes. “What sort of shit?”

“Heavy shi--,”

“Dude, I’m already in the car, I’m not going anywhere. Just tell me. Are you like a fuckin’ serial murderer? Did you get caught cooking meth? Just what?”

Ramsay sighs again, shoulders drooping. His eyes flick from the road to Theon and back.

“I didn’t actually do anything.”

“Okay and?”

“But I was,” Ramsay trials off again. “About two months ago I was all over the papers.”

Theon thinks back, tries to remember seeing Ramsay before, staring up at him from the front page of Ned Stark’s newspaper. The image doesn’t fit. Theon shakes his head.

“I don’t think I ever saw it.”

“Yeah well, plenty of people did.”

Theon waits, but apparently it’s all Ramsay has to say on the subject.

They drive the rest of the way in uneasy silence. Theon leans against the window and tries to think of how bad it could be, about what Ramsay could have done. Drugs? Drugs seems the most likely. But it doesn’t fit.

“So are you coming?” Ramsay asks as he turns the motor off. Like Theon has a choice in the matter. He’s not about to walk back to the Stark house for a second time in one day.

“You still haven’t told me anything.”

Ramsay sighs. His father’s car is not in the drive like it had been when Theon had left a little over an hour ago. They are alone on the street.

“They’re all a bunch of fuck-ups, you know,” Ramsay says, apropos nothing. Fingering the keys, still in the ignition, so that the key rings clink together softly in the silence of the car. “Everyone who was at the trial. Everyone who read about it. Domeric. Everyone. And everyone here. God,” he licks his lips. Not looking at Theon, focusing on the steering wheel with his eyes narrowed, “everyone here is so fucking one-dimensional. They’re just people,” he says the word like it’s a curse on its own, something so utterly distasteful. Something disgusting. Theon suddenly, brightly, understands the depths of what he’s gotten into here perhaps go deeper than he’d originally imagined. But there’s little help for it. “They’re nobodies. And you,” Ramsay looks at him now, a quick, disarming, sliding glance, “you’re nothing special. Not right now. Not alone. But you and me? Together. Together we could be something fucking…unforgettable.”

Theon blinks. “That’s…”

“Crazy?” There is a hostile edge to Ramsay’s tone. Dangerous and sharp. Theon shakes his head. He hadn’t intended to say crazy anyway.

“Deep.” Deep and meaningless. Just words that sound interesting when strung together. Ultimately fruitless. Theon shifts in his seat. He hasn’t unclipped his seatbelt and he isn’t sure why, makes no move to do it now either. “Where did you read it?”

“I didn’t read it,” still hostile, scandalized. “It’s just what I think about sometimes. You don’t have to agree with me,” he says, sparing Theon another withering, pitying glance, “you’re free to leave whenever.”

“I’m not going to leave. I want to know what you did.”

“And then you’ll leave.” Ramsay is looking at his hand now, the one folded over the stick shift. Knuckles almost brushing Theon’s knee.

“Fuck you,” Theon says, growls. “You’re a fucking coward.”

“I’m not.”

But he is. Theon can taste it on Ramsay’s tongue when Theon leans across the stick shift to slam their mouths together. He doesn’t know why he cares so much, doesn’t know what getting the answers will give him. He could have gotten out scott-free, could have left Ramsay to his months of community service. But he doesn’t like being in debt and he doesn’t like being toyed with and he doesn’t like anyone assuming they understand his motivations. Ramsay fucking Bolton doesn’t know shit about him and Theon resolves, pressing his lips hard into Ramsay’s, that no matter what it is that got Ramsay all over the news, he’s going to stick it out. At least until one of them has fucked the other. Theon’s in it for the long haul.

The seatbelt cuts too tight across Theon’s chest, pulled too far by Theon’s movements. He has to sit back.

“So just fucking tell me, dude. Enough with the suspense shit.”

It probably won’t add up to the buildup. These things rarely do.

Ramsay swallows.

“My brother is dead.” Ramsay says.

“Shit sucks, life’s tough, people die,” Theon says, unimpressed. He has two dead brothers and a lifetime of guilt he doesn’t deserve, but he doesn’t bring that up right now.

Ramsay shakes his head, meeting Theon’s gaze. His eyes are fever bright. Unsettling. “My brother died a year ago and I was accused of his murder.”

It takes a long moment for that thought to process. A long, drawing series of seconds. Theon is aware of his pulse and that it is suddenly harder to breathe. He has to focus on the process, draw the air in and let it out. Ramsay’s words are as sudden and disorienting as a punch to the head. Theon feels off-balance.

He smiles, chuckles. Forces himself past it.

“Yeah,” Theon says. “Okay.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Of course he isn’t.

Theon never really believed he was. But he shakes his head anyway, still grinning. He can’t help it, doesn’t know how to stop it. “Well that’s just…great.”

Ramsay licks his lips and doesn’t say anything. He takes the keys out of the ignition.

“Are you going to leave now?”

He should, Theon knows he really should. But he’s stubborn and stupid and young and Ramsay is entitled to at least explain what happened. How he could come to be accused of fratricide.

“Fuck you,” Theon says because it’s all he can unscramble his brain enough to say.

And then, slower, each word measured. “Did you do it?”

Ramsay makes a sound, some sort of huff from the back of his throat. “I’m sitting here aren’t I? Not in jail, not in juvey.”

“But that isn’t what I asked.”

Ramsay grins, a humorless pull of his pretty pink lips. “You’re the first person to actually ask me that.” It doesn’t answer the question, but Theon is just as happy for that. He isn’t so sure, even though he had asked, that he wants to know the answer to that particular question.

“So your dad moved you out here to keep you out of the press?”

Ramsay half-nods. “He thought it would be better if I wasn’t around a bunch of people who had known Domeric.”

Theon bites his lip. Unclips his seatbelt with hands that are strangely steady. In control. Running on auto-pilot. He leans across the stick again, the movement freer now that he’s not locked in and presses his mouth against Ramsay’s. Bites at Ramsay’s lips when Ramsay is too slow on the uptake, grips the sides of his head and puts everything he has into the kisses. Practically scrambles over the center console when Ramsay opens his mouth to him, settling his weight across Ramsay’s lap. It’s cramped and uncomfortable but Theon feels like it makes his point.

“You don’t have to stay.” Ramsay says, but even as he does, his fingers are threading through Theon’s belt loops, sliding over his hips. Contradicting. Begging.

“I’m not running away,” Theon says, pulling back. Voice rougher than he intends.

“Will you stay the night?”

Theon rolls his eyes. Such a simple, childish thing to wonder, under the weight of everything they’ve been talking about.

“Just tonight.”

“You picked me,” Ramsay mutters into Theon’s neck, lips dragging across his slightly sweaty skin. “You have to remember that. I didn’t make this happen. You picked me.”

Theon doesn’t know what to do with those whispers. Isn’t completely sure he was even supposed to hear them.

“We should go inside,” he says instead.

Ramsay nods, absently, eyes dropping from Theon’s face to his neck and back. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

\--

The dogs aren’t in the basement this time, aren’t locked away. Ramsay curses and shoves his knee through the gap between the door and the frame before they can come tumbling onto the stoop, all eager canine enthusiasm. Four dogs, all wiry hunting breeds. They crowd Theon at door, sniffing and panting and snuffling. One of the pointers is very clearly pregnant.

“Hope you aren’t scared of dogs,” Ramsay says like an afterthought.

The Starks have six dogs, all huskies, all bigger than these. Theon isn’t bothered by these dogs in the least.

“It’s fine.”

“Good,” Ramsay says, grabbing the pregnant one by the collar and shooing her away from Theon, “let’s go then.”

Theon follows Ramsay up to Ramsay’s room.

He doesn’t think about the ghosts this time.

Or at least not about the ghost of Lady Hornwood.

Domeric.

Theon wishes Ramsay had just left his brother nice and namless.

“I’ll do it this time,” Ramsay says, ignorant to Theon’s very separate train of thought. Theon doesn’t need to ask what he means though.

His original goal.

Theon grins and sits on the couch he’d occupied for most of the day. “All right, then,” he says. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The blowjob is, by no stretch of the imagination, one of the messiest Theon has ever gotten. But that makes it all the more thrilling. Ramsay whines through his nose and gags and coughs and drools too much and Theon doesn’t know that he’s ever been more turned on in his life.

“I’m…ngh. I wanna come on your face,” Theon breathes, when he’s close. His hands are too tangled in Ramsay’s hair, knots around his fingers. Ramsay makes a sound around his cock, pushing him closer though Theon doesn’t think it’s intentional, and sort of nods in Theon’s palms. The affirmation is all Theon needs.

He pulls Ramsay off of him, strokes himself once, quick and sliding, cock slick from Ramsay’s spit, and does just what he said he was going to.

And Ramsay grins the entire time.

“Was it good for you?” Ramsay asks, like Theon’s coming wasn’t enough to confirm its success. He wipes Theon’s come off his chin with the heel of his palm. The sight is hotter than Theon wants to admit. 

Theon rolls his eyes, batting away the post-orgasmic lethargy settling in his bones. “It was fine.”

“Best you’ve ever had?”

Not in a million years; but Theon feels uncharacteristically protective of Ramsay’s feelings, so he doesn’t say that, he just shakes his head with a grin and says: “You’ll get better with practice.”

Ramsay wrinkles his nose, corners of his mouth curling up in an answering grin. “I want to fuck you next time.”

Of course he does. Theon wonders if that isn’t for the best. If one good lay will just evaporate this sudden need he has to be around Ramsay Bolton, if he can just fuck away his blossoming feelings. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought. This was supposed to be about quick, dirty sex. Blow jobs in the high school bathroom. Theon’s always been quick to spot and sever growing signs of more serious attraction. 

But this time…

“How did you do it?” Theon asks, before he’s even fully realized he was forming the question.

Ramsay doesn’t ask what he means. His smile disappears so fast it’s more than a little bit startling. He licks his lips, narrows his eyes. “Do you really want to know?” 

Theon nods. He won’t ask why Ramsay did it, or how he got off on the charges, or what he told his father. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about Ramsay’s blatant lack of remorse or the guarded, predatory way that Ramsay’s grey eyes scan his face. He has to know how though. He needs that much.

“Antifreeze.”

One word. Such a simple thing. Ramsay’s voice shakes slightly when he says it, dangerous edge dropping away as quick as it had appeared. Like he’s nervous. Theon wonders if Ramsay has ever told anyone else this.  
“You won’t--,” Ramsay starts. Looking away, fingers digging into Theon’s knee. Realizing what he’s done.

“Who would I tell?” Theon pushes his jeans off with one hand. Tosses them and his shirt behind the couch. “So where am I sleeping? Here or your bed?”

Ramsay shifts, licks his lips. “My bed,” he says, quietly, “is fine. If it’s, you know, just for tonight.”

Theon nods again, breathing out through his nose. “Yeah. Just for tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Hope you all liked this update. I've actually flushed out where this is going, I just need to, you know, actually write it. Any questions or comments or complaints are always welcome, thanks for reading, guys!


	4. Chapter 4

Theon wakes up for a second time in Ramsay’s room. Wakes up alone again. But his neck’s not cramped this time, so that’s something. He takes stock, breathing through his nose, getting used to the feeling of waking up in a foreign bed, someone else’s space. It’s a familiar feeling, it took him over a year to get used to waking up in the Stark house. Theon’s never been particularly good at adaptation.

There’s a poster on the ceiling, another band poster. Arctic Monkeys. Something about it catches Theon’s attention. Something is off. With the other posters too, and the video games. Like Ramsay is playing at being a normal teenager, presenting normal teenage things, when really he couldn’t give less of a shit about it. Theon isn’t sure why he feels that way though. Despite last night’s confession, and being a virgin, Ramsay has done nothing wildly out of the ordinary.

Theon licks his lips and sits up.

The alarm clock on the bedside table reads six forty am.

Theon curses, rolls out from under the covers and finds his pants where he had discarded them. His phone—traitorous, terrible piece of technology—is in the pocket. Four missed calls (Robb, Robb, Asha, Ned) but nothing that would indicate his alarm hadn’t gone off. It’s still set for every weekday, six am. Theon frowns, pulling his jeans on and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

Waking up late is annoying.

Having to go to school wearing the same clothes as the day before and going without a shower is worse.

And where the fuck is Ramsay?

Theon pokes under the covers for his shirt, checks under the bed too. But it’s also mysteriously missing. He sits up on his knees, hand braced on the edge of the bed. Ramsay’s nightstand has two drawers. Theon tugs the first one open on the off chance that his shirt found its way in there.

No luck on the shirt.

But the drawer is far from empty.

Theon doesn’t know why the prescription bottles surprise him. It’s obvious Ramsay is some sort of emotional, behavioral train wreck. It only makes sense he would be on mood inhibitors and sleeping pills and the like. Maybe it’s the amount of them, bottles on top of bottles--at least fifty. Some of the labels Theon recognizes, some he doesn’t. There is more than one repeat. None of the bottles are empty. Not a single one looks to have less than ten pills in it.

“What are you doing?” Ramsay asks, voice drifting from the doorway. Theon stands up and turns, presses his back against the drawer, closing it with his weight.

“I was,” he starts, licks his lips. He runs his hand down his arm. “My shirt?”

Ramsay shrugs. His hair is still wet. He woke up in time for a shower it seems. “Haven’t seen it. Wanna borrow one of mine?”

Theon wants to say no. A walk of shame is better than being seen wearing Ramsay’s clothes. But yesterday’s top isn’t even an option if Ramsay is going to stay silent about its whereabouts.

“Do I have any other choice?”

“Not if you want to get to school on time,” Ramsay says, simply enough. “I’m in enough trouble as it is. I can’t be late.”

Which means they need to leave sooner, rather than later. Theon sighs. “Yeah, okay, whatever, dude.”

Ramsay grins. In a moment he has pulled a shirt out of his dresser, tosses it in Theon’s direction. Theon pulls it over his head, wincing when he raises his arms. “Do you have Old Spice or something?” He asks, sniffing and recoiling away from his own armpit again. Double checking.

Ramsay makes a face. “Deodorant has aluminum in it.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It can give you Alzhimer’s,” Ramsay says, narrowing his eyes. “It’s not something I’m willing to risk.”

“You don’t use deodorant?”

Ramsay shrugs, shaking his head. “Never really needed to,” he says, grinning slightly, “just lucky I guess.”

Just lucky.

Like how he woke up in time to shower and dress like a normal human being.

Just lucky.

The complete and utter opposite of Theon who is going to school with yesterday’s sex sweat and jeans.

Despite his inner complaints, though, the shirt Ramsay lends him fits quite nicely and is comfortable. Soft and broken in. Theon wonders how many times Ramsay himself has worn this shirt.

“Do you like it?”

“I’d like mine better,” Theon says, narrowing his eyes. Ramsay is staring at him. He shrugs. “Do I at least have time to pee before we go?”

“I guess. If you hurry.”

Theon doesn’t really hurry, but he doesn’t take his sweet time about it either. Ramsay may have taken the fall for the fire alarm, but Theon is still on the record as having skipped school. If they’re late, it’s going to be on both of them. 

\--

Theon expects it to be Robb waiting at his locker. Theon would just as soon skip that confrontation, but he figures he should at least take a notebook with him to class as all of his text books are still at the Stark’s.  
But it isn’t Robb anyway.

Somehow it’s worse.

It’s Asha, leaning back against his locker, licking her lips.

“Who’s that?” Ramsay asks, while they’re still out of ear-shot. If Theon weren’t so annoyed with him at the moment, he’d be flattered by the blatant jealousy in Ramsay’s tone.

“No one. You should go to class.”

“She’s clearly someone,” Ramsay pauses, breathes. Looks away from Theon and then back. “She looks like you.”

It’s true, Ramsay isn’t the first one to notice the similarities. They have the same hair, the same jawline. The same eyes. Asha looks up, her gaze catches on Theon and she frowns.

“You really need to go,” Theon says as Asha pushes herself off of his locker, pushes through the crowd of students toward the two of them.

“But I--,”

“I said fucking go.” Theon shoves him, not hard, but enough to get his point across. Ramsay makes a face and goes, sulking off down the hallway. Theon watches him go. When he turns back around, Asha is on him.

“You lose your phone?” She asks, quick, darting words. Theon begins to shake his head but Asha talks over the motion. “Cuz I mean, that’s really—really—the only reason I could possibly conceive for why you wouldn’t call me back.” Theon looks away from her, but she grabs his chin and forces him to look back. “I’m serious, Theon, what the fuck? Robb—fucking Robb Stark of all people—called me. I got called to the office because of you. I got to hear Robert Baratheon’s ‘Why Our Family is a Fuck Up’ speech.” 

“Gee,” Theon says, forcing her hand off of his face. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Maybe you should take some of it to heart, I mean, clearly, the Greyjoys are sort of fuck ups.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she says. But she deflates some. “Where were you?”

“This again? I got the third degree from Robb, I don’t need it from you.”

“I’m blood, he’s not. You’re getting it from me whether you like it or not.”

Theon wants to tell her blood doesn’t mean all that damn much, but then he remembers her slapping him barely a week ago and he doesn’t. Instead he says. “I was out, I told Robb that too. I wasn’t here.”

“I didn’t mean during school. I meant last night. Robb was really worried. Really, really worried. He thought you would skip town or something stupid.” The fact that she’s mentioning it means the thought wasn’t too farfetched in Asha’s mind either.

“I’m not some angst-ridden teenager. I was with a friend. Robb pissed me off.”

Asha sighs, drags a hand through her hair. She’d been more nervous than she is admitting, Theon can tell by the way she’s acting now. She’s always cared more about him than she should. When she was fifteen, their father drove their car into oncoming traffic because she had asked if Theon could come home for Christmas dinner. When she was fifteen she’d had three of her ribs and one of her legs broken because she mentioned her unmentionable little brother. Because she still loved her little brother. Theon had been told the circumstances after the fact, had been told about the entire ordeal years later, when Asha had come back to school. It had been officially declared an accident. Because Asha loved their father too.

“You still should have called me back.”

“My phone was on silent.”

“Not an excuse.” She swallows, crosses her arms. “Who was that guy?”

Conversations are doomed to repeat themselves. “He’s no one.”

“He who you stayed with last night?”

“He’s just a stalker.”

“Theon.”

“What? Asha, you’re not my chaperone, okay? He’s just a guy.”

“He set the alarm off yesterday. I was in the office when he confessed to that. And he attacked Eddard Karstark on the first day.”

“Attacked is sort of a harsh word, isn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes. “I had assumed the rumors I heard about you two hooking up was just that. Rumors.”

“Asha…”

“Theon,” she repeats his name in the same drawing tone he had used. “Is that his shirt?”

“Are you asking if I fucked him?”

She makes a face. “I’d rather not know that, thanks. But that shirt doesn’t really fit,” she runs her finger across his chest, “it’s too tight. And,” she makes another face, lighter this time, slightly more playful, “you’ve never really expressed a love for Sonic Youth.”

Theon pushes her hand away, looking down at the design on the shirt.

“I just,” Asha grins, a helpless little motion, “I want you to be careful, okay?”

“If say yes, will you leave me alone?” Theon asks.

“Theon, I’m serious--,”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I know. And I am.” He falters, only slightly. “I’m totally in control, okay?”

The bell rings, cutting between the two of them like a shot. Asha looks like she wants to say something else, but the students around them begin to move, jostling them, killing intimacy of the moment. Instead of pressing, Ashs sighs and nods. “Yeah. All right. Fine.”

It wasn’t a lie anyway, Theon tells himself. He is in control. He has everything under control.

\--

Ramsay has occupied the seat next to his.

It isn’t really a surprise, but Theon makes a face as he sits down anyway. Rolling his eyes when Ramsay grins at him. The girl who usually sits there is in Ramsay’s abandoned seat. He’s just as glad to have missed that little conversation.

Jon Snow is pointedly not looking at him. Theon debates going over and pushing the issue, forcing Jon to acknowledge him, but the teacher isn’t too far behind Theon so he doesn’t. He just sits at his desk and stretches his legs out.

People are staring, every student but Jon is staring. So Theon gives them the show they expect. Cocky, confident and in control.

Class has barely begun when the PA crackles to life, calling Theon to the front office.

The teacher’s expression is far from thrilled, but she waves Theon out. As he goes, he notices Ramsay frowning. A nervous tilt to his lips.

Antifreeze.

They aren’t calling Theon to the office over that, but it obviously doesn’t matter.

In control. So long as Theon can keep the upper hand, he’ll always be in control.

\--

‘You’re what?’ the text message reads. ‘Who the hell gets grounded these days???’

Theon sighs, doesn’t bother keying in a response. The day has gone from bad to worse to worst in a matter of hours.

It isn’t fair that the Starks, and by extension Theon himself, are held to higher expectations than the rest of the school. The fact that the principal is best buddies with Ned Stark shouldn’t affect the children’s academics.

And yet.

Robert Baratheon had made it quite clear that if Theon wanted to fail out, it was fine, but any unexcused absences would be handled swiftly and with prejudice.

Ned, when called to be told Theon’s sentence (two weeks detention, which seems excessive, really) had endorsed it fully. He’d even added a grounding sentence on top of the punishment for Theon’s disregard of curfew.  
“You’re lucky he let you keep your phone and stuff,” Robb is saying, afterschool, adding salt to the wound with his smug little smiles, “he was talking about cutting you off completely.”

Theon rolls his eyes. Looks over Ramsay’s message again. He can’t decide whether the text should be read with an angry or disbelieving tone.

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I heard you, Robb. Papa Stark was livid, clearly technology is to blame for my lack of respect. Fire bad. Change is scary.”

“Dude, you don’t need to be an asshole,” Jon grumbles from the back.

Theon rolls his eyes. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he knows better. Unlike his cell phone and computer, those are on the grounding shit-list. “Yeah well, I could also, you know, not get punished for not doing anything wrong.”

“You could have answered your phone,” Robb says.

“Or left a note,” Jon adds.

Sansa, thankfully, stays silent.

Still, two weeks of this is going to suck a dick, Theon can already tell.

In his palm, his phone buzzes.

‘That mean we aren’t going to be able to hang out and stuff?’

It’s easy enough to translate what Ramsay is really asking. Theon sighs again, through his nose, shoulders rising and falling with it.

‘Generally speaking, that is what grounded means. No going out. No fun. No sex. Too bad some of us aren’t gifted with talking our way out of trouble.’ Theon types, ignoring the way Robb glares at him sidelong.

“What’s up your butt, Robb?” Theon asks, when it is clear that Robb will not just out and say whatever is on his mind.

“I called Asha last night.”

“She told me. We had a nice little heart to heart in the hall this morning. Before I was called to the office for my standard Baratheon tongue lashing.”

“She thinks you’re being stupid. Did she tell you that?”

In the backseat Jon stiffens. Sansa has sunk down in her seat. She seems very interested in the back of Robb’s headrest.

“You mean you think I’m being stupid and you talked her into agreeing with you.”

“I--,”

“No, man. I get it. I actually managed to make a friend of my own, on my own and you’re worried about it. I mean, God forbid, I find someone who likes me without clearing them with you first. Asha thinks I’m being stupid, sure. But she also lets me do it. It isn’t her job to stop me and it isn’t yours.” Surprisingly, Theon sounds calm, his tone is mostly even, only clipping into sarcasm at the edges. “So I’m going to tell you what I told her, I’m in control. I’m on top of this. This time.”

“He was on trial for murder,” Jon says when Robb says nothing. Covering for his brother. Theon supposes he means for it to be shocking, like the two of them worked this out to spring it on Theon just like this. Sansa makes a small noise, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay? And?”

“It’s fucking weird.” Jon says, faltering slightly.

“Okay. So it’s a little unfortunate but guess what, on trial and guilty aren’t exactly the same things.” Theon can’t imagine what his reaction would be had he not already known. Hurt, anger. Disbelief. His forewarning comes as a small favor, he’s not in the mood to be vulnerable in front of Jon and Robb right now.

“So he told you himself?” Robb says. Picking up where Jon left off. It really isn’t fair that they can grill Theon in tandem like this, in the car of all places, where he has no escape. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but Theon ignores it. Ramsay can wait until after Theon has properly defended his honor.

“We talked about it a little bit.”

“Did he tell you his father defended him?”

He had not. And Theon had assumed that Mister Bolton wouldn’t have. Not with the nature of the case. Some of his surprise must show, Robb grins.

“His dad got him out of trouble with the whole Eddard Karstark thing too.”

“So?”

“So, he’s this slick city kid who needs daddy to bail him out of tough spots. It’s sad and immature.” Jon says.

“And you telling me all of this isn’t? For the last time, I’m not a child and I don’t need your permission or your guidance or your support.” Theon swallows. Robb is turning into the Stark driveway. “And I don’t need Ned’s. Or Catelyn’s.” He thinks about Ramsay, who even this morning had started to annoy Theon with his behavior. Now though, those slight annoyances are the last thing that Theon thinks of.

“I’m going to do what I want,” Theon says, stepping out of the car. Sansa has already made her escape, is in-putting the code to the garage while her brothers have their standoff, “when this two weeks is up, I’m going to be at Ramsay’s every day. And I am going to let him fuck me. I’m going to beg him to.” He adds the last part just to see the spark of anger across Robb’s face, just to get under his skin.

But deep down, he also knows it’s true. Two weeks is going to be a trial in and of itself. He most likely won’t be able to keep himself from begging when the time comes. Desperate and demanding. Like a whore.

\--  
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Theon is muttering, lips in Ramsay’s hair, hands gripping Ramsay’s shoulders.

“No one walked in on us last time,” Ramsay says, fingers sliding up under Theon’s shirt. And that isn’t exactly true, but Theon doesn’t bother to correct him. Besides, this time it’s Theon with his back to the bathroom wall, boxed in by Ramsay.

It’s been five days.

Time supposedly flies when people are having fun and that would explain why those five days have felt more like five years to Theon.

“We’re missing detention for this,” Theon says. His knees slide against Ramsay’s, tangling their legs together. Hips brushing. “We could get in even more trouble.”

“You signed in. I signed in. The dumb bitch isn’t going to notice we aren’t actually there.”

A fair enough point. Theon presses a series of quick, breathless kisses against Ramsay’s face. “But you’re going to make it worth my while?”

“If you make it worth mine.” Ramsay’s hands are already unclipping Theon’s belt. Hurried, clumsy motions. He swallows, blinks. Still such a blushing innocent thing. His hands shake, just slightly, as they part the material of Theon’s jeans. This is what Theon had been after that first time. This thrilling rush of corruption.

“Tell me you want me to,” Ramsay says, meeting Theon’s gaze suddenly. Like it’s terribly important.

“I think it’s pretty clear I want you to,” Theon answers, tipping his head just slightly. His erection is quite evident between the two of them, filling the space between the open plackets of his jeans.

Ramsay frowns. “But I want you to say it. Say you can’t get enough of my mouth. Say I’m the best you’ve ever had. Say you,” Ramsay trips over the words, Theon can almost see the way they stick in his throat. “Say you’ll never leave me and I’ll do it. I’ll do this as much as you want.”

Theon’s lips are dry. Licking them doesn’t seem to help. “I can’t get enough of your mouth,” he says after a moment. “You’re,” Theon glances away, amends the statement, “you’re the best guy I’ve ever had.” He tilts his hips. Impatient. They don’t have time for this. For these half-promises Theon doesn’t intend to keep.

“All of it.”

“You won’t if I don’t?”

“Never again.” And that’s probably a lie, or at least something that would take more effort in the end then Ramsay has the patience for, but Theon, in this moment, doesn’t want the argument.

“I’ll never leave you,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ever?”

“Do you honestly--,”

“Just say it.”

“Ever. I’m not leaving.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Theon equates this with Domeric. He pushes the thought away by carding his fingers through Ramsay’s hair when Ramsay drops to his knees. Ramsay mumbles something into Theon’s thighs and Theon just nods, unsure if he was supposed to be able to hear it or not.

Ramsay’s mouth is warm when he finally descends on Theon’s cock, all eager, unpracticed enthusiasm. Too much tongue and too little time. Ramsay doesn’t have the experience to back up a quickie in the bathroom during lunch. He bobs his head, letting Theon’s hands guide the motion with his hair, but Theon doubts they’ll be done by the time the period is. Not like this at least.

“Up here,” Theon says, tugging on Ramsay’s hair until Ramsay stands up. Confusion makes his grey eyes all the prettier. Even after standing, he still touches, fingers gliding over Theon’s cock. Like he can’t help it.

“Did I do something--,”

Theon digs his fingers into Ramsay’s shoulder, lowers his own hand to join Ramsay’s. “No. Nothing wrong,” he says, quickly. Hand crossing the space from his cock to Ramsay’s still buttoned jeans. “Just…I think it might be better like this. For today. For right now.”

Ramsay still doesn’t seem to get it. Still looks confused, slightly hurt. Theon uses his grip on Ramsay’s shoulder to keep them close, arches his back and slips that arm more fully around the back of Ramsay’s neck. Their hips bump. And Ramsay seems to understand.

He gets his own pants opened in record time, Theon’s questing fingers do little more than get in the way. It’s hard to concentrate on his hands when Ramsay is panting into his ear, groaning Theon’s name in clipped little growls. Their hips bump again and this time, with both their cocks free, the friction works. Theon tips his head back with a noise, groping blindly for Ramsay’s hip, holding him in place. Ramsay squeezes their cocks together and Theon loses it, breath spilling messily from between his lips. Ramsay’s hands are just so big, made for this, wrapping so easily around both of them, tugging at an exploratory pace.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” Theon says, too loud and too desperate. Ramsay grins and kisses him and that effectively shuts Theon up.

He takes the advice though. Ramsay’s next stroke is faster and Theon grinds into it. One more quick movement, a flick of his thumb against the head and the feeling of Ramsay’s cock pressed against his own (fucking hard and hot and thick and good) is enough to push Theon closer to the edge way faster than he would have thought. Somehow, he’s gotten a leg half-wrapped around Ramsay’s waist, Theon isn’t sure when or how he missed that happening. Ramsay’s hand is under his knee, supporting the stance, allowing Ramsay to push closer. To invade Theon’s space completely.

Not that Theon is complaining.

Quite the opposite in fact.

Two, three more strokes and Theon is coming, abrupt and sudden, splashing between the two of them. Ramsay makes a noise when he does, some sort of grunting groan, some messy variation of Theon’s name, and then he’s coming too.

Theon sighs into Ramsay’s hair, relaxes his fingers from around Ramsay’s hip and lowers his leg.

“It probably works better,” Ramsay says, head still leaning on Theon’s chest, blocking Theon’s view, “when both parties are naked.” His voice wavers ever-so-slightly when he speaks. Something like laughter sticking to the edges of his words.

“What are you talking about?”

Ramsay does chuckle then, glances up at Theon with a grin and steps away, over to the sinks. Theon’s shirt is ruined, or at least the bottom half of it is. Telling white streaks from the hem to mid-belly.

“Fuck,” Theon grumbles, tugging at the material with a frown. “How the hell did you avoid getting it all over you?” Ramsay shrugs, turns one of the sinks on and runs a paper towel under it. Wipes his cock off with a grin that could only be construed as smug.

“Gravity or something I guess. Just lucky,” he says.

“Lucky,” Theon echoes, shaking his head. “Throw me one too, would you?”

Ramsay shakes his head. “Don’t clean it off.”

Theon rolls his eyes. “It’s gross, Ramsay. I’m not going around all day with spunk all over me.”

“It’s only on your shirt.”

“It’s still gross. People already think I’m a whore, dude, I don’t particularly feel the need to confirm what they all think.”

“Tell them it’s like icing or something. You have a jacket. Just don’t. Don’t wipe it off, okay?”

Theon licks his lips, still frowning. Ramsay looks desperate, as close to begging as Theon has ever seen. His eyes are huge and pleading. “Why is it so important to you?”

Ramsay steps closer, runs his finger through some of the mess, smearing it into the material further. “I just like seeing it. Knowing it’s there. Knowing I did it.”

“That’s what hickies are for.”

“But I didn’t leave one of those.” Ramsay sounds like a child, petulant and pouting. Theon narrows his eyes and lifts his chin.

“Then do it. And let me get cleaned up.”

Ramsay’s breathing is terribly loud, between the two of them. Theon watches the way his throat moves as he swallows. His lips are dry when they drag across the column of Theon’s throat. Vague arousal and anticipation.  
And then Ramsay bites him. Hard.

“Jesus fuck,” Theon says, jolting with the pain of the sudden assault. Ramsay’s teeth are an unforgiving line of pressure and when something gives, a canine breaking through the skin, Theon closes his eyes and whines. “Ow fucking, Christ,” he groans when Ramsay steps away. “I didn’t mean bite me,” Theon says, shoving at Ramsay’s shoulder. There is blood on Ramsay’s lips, just a little bit, but it’s still blood. Theon claps a hand over the wound, probes at it gently. Shallow but bleeding.

“What did you mean then?” Ramsay asks. He looks truly confused.

Theon sighs. “Hickies are just. Just bruises. You don’t need to use teeth.” Theon steps over to the sinks, tilts his head to look at the mark in the mirror.

“It’s already bruising.” Ramsay points out. “I don’t really see what the problem is.”

“Yeah well, you wouldn’t.”

The bell rings. Theon closes his eyes and sighs. Makes quick work of cleaning his shirt off. It isn’t a perfect job by any means, but Ramsay was right, he has a jacket. No reason anyone needs to see the stains Theon can’t take the time to properly clean off.

“I’m sorry?” Ramsay offers as they leave the bathroom.

“No you aren’t.”

“No,” he says, smiling sheepishly, “I’m not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this update took so long, this chapter did not write itself. Like I said before I know where I'm going with this but I have stuff to cover if I'm going to get there without jarring time skips. So yeah. Ramsay's crazy is amping up some here and will continue to ramp so be ready for that. The next chapter is about half written and I hope to have it up sometime in the next two weeks. Hope you all liked this chapter as well! Your reviews are all really appreciated.


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